The Five Senses of Love
by Procrastinating Penguin
Summary: How do I love thee? Let me feel the ways.... //One shot/Two sides// Kaito/Aoko. For MyMelo.
1. In Her Eyes

**The Five Senses of Love**

_Disclaimer: I do not own DC/MK. _

**Sight**

He had messy hair. Just-got-of-bed look. Bright blue eyes. A grin that lit up his whole face. Long-limbed but agile. He had hands of a magician - slender fingers that were expert in drawing roses from thin air and coaxing smiles from her face. Well-trained in the art of smoke and mirrors - he _was _all smoke and mirrors. He was the class clown. Stage-hog. A goblin for spotlight. Sometimes a total drama queen.

Simply put, he was eye-catching.

Never satiated with an audience of one.

(_But she knew that already, didn't she?)_

**Smell**

Soap. Fresh laundry.

(Well, that was obvious.)

Sometimes, after PE, when the boys scrambled back to class seconds before the bell rang, the white undershirt clinging longingly under the black uniform, there was a certain musky smell that lingered at the base of his neck. She couldn't put a finger on it what it smelled like, but it wasn't bad.

It actually smelled sort of good.

_("Is there something on my neck?")_

_("No__.")_

Not that she would ever tell.

Ever.

**Hearing**

Oh, the boy_ talked_. Non-stop, some days. He knew what/when/how to touch a nerve. Always the teasing. The constant "Your-father-can't-catch-KID-even-if-he-dances-right-in-front-of-the-task-squad-on-his-head" (Which, in an absolutely bizarre twist of events, proved to be true two nights later) and "Aoko-are-you-really-sure-you're-a-girl?"

And of course, "What colour are they today, Aoko?"

(_Thwack._)

(_"Shut up, Kaito."_)

Please don't.

She liked his voice.

The nights when the house gorged and gorged on the silence until there was no more silence but muted nothingness, he slinked through the window. Like a cat. His grin, wide and glistening white, was the lone crescent moon that lit up the night.

_Aoko._

She liked how he called her name. Aoko_, _Aoko_, Aoko_. Blue Child. No reserved _-kuns _or formal _-sans_. Just Aoko. Warm and affectionate in its simplicity.

_("Kaito.")_

_("What?")_

_("Kaaaito.")_

_("What, Aoko?")_

_("Nothing.")_

She lied. It was everything.

**Taste**

Chocolate. Milk Chocolate.

**Touch**

He was air; around her, here, there, everywhere.

But where?

A breeze grazing past her cheeks.

He was -

(_"Right here."_)

**A/n: I haven't penned something serious in a while... anyways, click on the green button below and tell me what you think ^^.**


	2. In Its Eyes

**In Its Eyes**

_Disclaimer: Don't own._

A tilted axis

The moon chasing the earth, the earth the sun, the sun the stars.

Laughing, running, soaring, charging, flailing, falling.

Her

A flicker of doubt. Wobbles. To pause, seconds before they collide-

(_Because all she wanted was for him to slow down)_

Him

Glancing backwards

hovering, out of reach, but not out of sight.

_Swoosh_.

The girl gives chase

(_Shhh... doesn't she know?)_

For the world to stop spinning, all she has to do

is

To

Stand

Still

**A/n: Okay, I lied. There are actually three POVs to this one shot. ^^ Can anyone guess this POV? The winner gets cookies!! **


	3. In His Eyes

**In His Eyes**

_Disclaimer: *insert witty remark about how I do not own DC/MK*_

**Er... now, before anyone starts pelting me with cookies, I have to say that your reviews were lovely! The last POV was extremely fun (and difficult) to write, And I'm glad most of you liked it. ^^ Now... with that cleared up... *zips up armour***

**MyMelo:** Haha, yes, I _am_ making life difficult. ^^ (but what is life otherwise?)

**Ningen Demonai: **Kaito x Akako? Nope, very good guess, though. Looking back, I suppose it does sound a bit like Akako, watching the couple engage in another childish mop chase...

**Alkyone: **Solar apex in Hercules constellation? Ah, I love star-gazing as well! (though I'm pretty clueless outside of Big Dipper/ Small Dipper/ Orion's belt...) Another vote for Akako!

**s2lou: **I have to say, my heart almost stopped when I read up to "mop-chasing Aoko". It's so close!...

And the POV actually belongs to... (*drum roll*) the mop.

*dodges flying cookies*

(I left a hint in the title! I did! It was "In _Its_ Eyes"!)

**Sight**

She was a sight to behold.

A whirlwind in motion. A tornado. The slope of her jaw fluid - _stubborn,_ clenched in the exact same way a certain foul-mouthed _keibu_ did - _wonder_, slightly slackened, lips parted into two rosy petals of awe. Soft cheeks easily teased into a blush. Blue, blue eyes.

("_Aoko, I think you're wearing your shirt backwards... or are you? I can't tell_.")

In the canvas of his mind, he traced the way her shoulders squared, her lips pursed in a defiant plane, the angles of her face tilting down into a frown. He would take a piece of charcoal and shade in shadows under her chin, the one spot that dimpled between her brows, taking care not to smudge the endearing chaos that was her hair, a careless halo around her face. And there would be red - a kiss of blood from his own thumb - to graze upon her cheeks.

It was a Tuesday - she opted for the mop. On Wednesdays she went for the broom.

("_Tired, Aoko?"_)

He would taunt, grinning from ear to ear.

She lunged -

And missed.

Again.

The magician laughed, happy but not jeering, simply because he could outrun and outjump the girl, bound over impossibly high cabinets with a simple strain of his legs -unleash a shower of confetti upon the room with a flick of his wrist and pull down the sun the moon the stars with a flex of his fingers poof Hakuba's hair pink and shave it all off with a snap of his fingers but -

he didn't.

The magician laughed. Because the spotlight - the two pools of blue upon blue upon blue - was on him. Him. And only him.

(And Kuroba Kaito did not share his stage.)

**Smell**

_ Salty. _

When she cried into his shoulders, the tears and the snot cascading into one single rivulet, he could detect it on her cheeks, her hair, her lips.

It was the smell of ocean. Her tears streaming down her cheeks, he held her. Folding the waves into himself, rolling along with the tide, drying the sea with the flimsy square of fabric on his back.

_Sugar._

A snowy day in February, she thrust the pink package into his arms.

_("What is it?")_

Her cheeks flamed. Not meeting his eyes, she snapped -

_ ("Poison.")_

Grinning, he unwrapped the package, took a bite of the poison, and leaned in - pressing his lips against hers-

(_"Boo, you're dead."_)

**Hearing**

(_"Kaito, what would you do if I die_?")

They were walking home, side by side. The biting drafts of a budding winter chafing their cheeks into rosy smudges.

He hesitated.

(_"Don't talk that way, idiot."_)

There was a slight pause. Behind them, the swings squeaked. Children laughed.

_("'Cause I'd cry, you know.")_

He glanced at her. She was looking down, at her black shoes, slightly scruffy from chasing him for an hour and a half that morning (break, lunch, _and_ PE). Her voice was light.

(_"Loud and hard, probably."_)

He kept his voice even. Unmoved.

(_"Why?"_)

(_"Because..."_) and there, her voice wavered. For the tiniest bit. She looked up. Their eyes met.

("_It would be too quiet._")

The breath caught in his throat.

_Thump._

Her lips cracked in a lopsided grin. She knocked him lightly on the shoulder.

_("Don't look so serious, baka. I was only kidding.")_

She skipped on ahead; he felt his own steps slow. Grind to a halt.

_("Kaito, I'm going to go on without you!")_

His exhaled.

Thinking...

he would cry too.

**Taste**

Chocolate.

Milk Chocolate.

(_but it might have been him_)

**Touch**

They were a puzzle.

Her fingers intertwined in his. Filling in the gaps. The soft curve of her palm nestling against his calloused one. His slender fingers, coiled, resting in the arc between her thumb and her index finger, bridging two hands as one. Tugging, swaying, staying.

His nose nuzzling against the bow of her neck. Dipping, smoothly, under the nook of her chin, the cranny beneath her collar bone - then, slowly, crawling up the hill of her shoulders, the inviting slope of her jaw.

(_"Stop it - you're tickling me."_)

Her arms around his waist. Her curves blending into his angles.

One and one blending into one.

(_he wasn't used to it being two anymore)_

His lips against her cheek, her hair, her lips.

(_"What are you thinking?"_)

With her, the pieces fell into place easily. And those that didn't - well, time softened the odd ridge here and the jutting groove there... perhaps not a perfect fit, but good enough.

(_"Hmmm... a certain ichthyophobic idiot. __"_)

And besides, they had all the time in the world.


End file.
